


Shezza

by namara_ashina



Series: drabbles for Kelley [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Gen, Spoilers for series 3, Suicidal Thoughts, erratic thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namara_ashina/pseuds/namara_ashina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was for a case. He needed his drug habit to come to Magnussen’s attention, make the man think him weak and succumbing. He wasn’t though, not really. He could stop at any time. He would stop as soon as he had gotten his desired reaction.</p><p>At least, that’s what he kept telling himself when he was sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shezza

**Author's Note:**

> Made for anotherwellkeptsecret's art.

([x](http://namara-ashina.tumblr.com/post/73589442903/anotherwellkeptsecret-shezza-as-requested-by))

Sherlock’s eyes, once sharp and calculating, were dead and flat as he flicked at his lighter. His mind, usually so erratic and stuffed full of information was blessedly quiescent as he took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling. Only a month had gone by since John Watson had gotten married, a month since he’d last seen the man and already he was using any conceivable excuse to use. Yes, technically it was for a case. He needed his drug habit to come to Magnussen’s attention, make the man think him weak and succumbing. He wasn’t though, not really. He could stop at any time. He would stop as soon as he had gotten his desired reaction.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself when he was sober. 

But when he was under the influence, when he could be more honest with himself, he could admit that he was simply craving the numbness, anything to dull the pain of loss he couldn’t stop himself from feeling. Really, this was getting too much. His face held genuine stubble from not having shaved, his hair was oily and growing lank from lack of washing. His clothing, once artfully torn was now properly grubby, ripped and starting to smell. Even his pants had holes in them.

Sherlock pocketed the lighter and propped his elbow on a raised knee, leaning his stubbled cheek against his fist as he took another drag. This was truly getting dangerous. If he didn’t stop soon, he risked actually getting pulled back into a true drug habit, one he didn’t know if he would want to come out of. Hell, he didn’t even know if he cared at this point.

He wondered if John would care. What would he do, if he saw the sorry state he was in. Would he yell? Hit him again? Or maybe he would just turn around and leave. After all, he had a wife and a baby on the way, John didn’t need Sherlock dragging him around anymore. He would soon be far too busy being dull and boring and ordinary. 

Growing tired of his own maudlin thoughts, Sherlock stubbed out the cigarette and promptly curled up on the sorry excuse for a mattress that was this night’s bed. As he drifted off, he contemplated various scenarios in which John heard of his condition and promptly stormed in to get him out. John had always been his knight in shining armor after all, ever since that first night with the cabbie. Those days were gone now, thrown away the day he’d faked his death. Perhaps he should have just actually killed himself…

Sherlock huffed out in irritation and attempted proper sleep. This needed to end soon if even his attempts at uplifting thoughts were so depressing. Tomorrow, he decided as he succumbed to slumber, tomorrow he would drag himself out of the depths he’d found himself in, one way or another.

But still, he couldn’t help but hope that John would somehow miraculously show up to save him from himself.


End file.
